


All the things he could not say

by Iamje



Series: A Kind of Magic [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: A little blood but nothing much, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Immortal Lovers, Joe is in deep, Joe is in love, Joe is really trying to not let it show, Love and Longing, M/M, Nicky has not figured it out (yet), Nicky is demi, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25556599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamje/pseuds/Iamje
Summary: [in short: Yusuf is desperately trying to not spill the beans and profess is eternal and undying love to Nicolò].Yusuf was in love with Nicolò, with everything he was. And he seemed to be falling deeper and deeper with each passing day. For him to not tell anything, to not pour it all out and chant it out loud, for him to not act on it... it was the hardest thing he had ever done. He often found himself on the verge of it, the words already formed in his mind, their sweet and tender taste already on his lips. He could not possibly count the number of times he had to backtrack and suddenly tell Nicolò something, anything, as long as it was not everything. It took all Yusuf had, every little bit of restraint he could muster (and even some bits he didn't know he possessed)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: A Kind of Magic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851835
Comments: 38
Kudos: 321





	All the things he could not say

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to the (shorter) "Ostende mihi viam" fic; you don't need to read it beforehand but it's probably cool if you do. The first fic is Nicolò's pov, whereas this piece will describe Yusuf's pov and what led to these events in the first place.  
> I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.

He loved him.  
There it is.  
Plain and simple.

Yusuf was in love with Nicolò. He was in love with the way Nicolò smiled softly everytime he caught Yusuf's gaze lingering on him. With how sturdy his hands were in any given situation. With his oh-so-beautiful blue eyes, and the milion changes he had witnessed in them, from the iciest of glares to the burning fires of barely controlled anger. He loved the bottomless pools of compassion that sat in them. He was in love with Nicolo's voice, and every inflexion in it, even the hurt. He loved to hear him talk, about anything really, and the way his voice could become quietly passionate on certain topics and gravely serious about others. 

Yusuf had been struck by his fearsome appearance on the battlefield, but fell in love with the humanity he so simply exuded at every moment. He loved how Nicolo never took anything for granted, how he reflected on his past mistakes and tried to learn to do better. How he actually tried to understand Yusuf, even when things were still tense and uneasy between them. How he always strived to make the world a better place. And -Yusuf was not an impartial jury on the matter but- he did. Everyday, every second, by the sheer fact he was there with him, Nicolò made the world infinitely better. 

Yes, Yusuf was in love with Nicolò, with everything he was. And he seemed to be falling deeper and deeper with each passing day. For him to not say anything, to not pour it all out and chant it out loud, for him to not act on it... it was the hardest thing he had ever done. 

He often found himself on the verge of it, the words already formed in his mind, their sweet and tender taste already on his lips. He could not possibly count the number of times he had to backtrack and suddenly tell Nicolò something, anything, as long as it was not  _ everything _ . It took all Yusuf had, every little bit of restraint he could muster (and even some bits he didn't know he possessed), and it made himself ache in a way death never could. But those were things he couldn't say. Ever. For he knew that the one he so dearly cherished would never accept it.

Time and time again, they had talked about family, about religion, about expectations, about paths. At first, it was nothing but a way to learn about him and his culture. A means to understand him when understanding was an arduous feat to say the least. But with time, Yusuf did. And so, when his heart started to blossom for his companion and long for him, he understood that there was no way that his feelings would ever be reciprocated. Nicolò was still deeply faithful and observant of his faith's rules, as was Yusuf. His vows had included chastity but, Nicolò had said to him one day, long ago, it was never a sacrifice for him. At that time, Yusuf had teased him, maybe even made fun of him, but now... now it was no laughing matter anymore. He was deeply infatuated with a virginal very-not-interested priest that had killed him a few dozens times. And that was... pathetic, and excruciating. 

How did it come to this, though... he himself was amazed at how far they had come from the initial hatred that so violently burned through their guts. Their friendship was not a fragile thing anymore, sure, but there had been a time when mere companionship seemed impossible. They had left together when nothing else made sense, when he himself was tired and broken in places that could not possibly heal. At first, he had been too worn out by this world to really hate Nicolò as much as he could have, as he  _ should  _ have. It was meant to be a truce, but he was still disgusted by him, by the nefarious smell he used to have, by the lack of basic knowledge he exhibited. Disgusted by the sheer idea of what he represented, of what he and his people did... And then, they had slowly learned from each other. 

Yusuf had dug his own grave. Talking to Nicolò only to find he actually listened. Drawing for him, only to have him understand. Accusing him, only to witness shame and regret in his eyes. Teaching him hygiene, only to have him looking like that and smelling like this. Teasing him, only to hear him respond to the banter in the most delightful ways. Staying with him, only to have Nicolò mend pieces of him that Yusuf didn't know could heal. The thought that he indeed dug his own grave (which was already pretty ironic for a man who could not die) often crept up on Yusuf at the most uncanny moments, even though he perfectly knew Nicolò was the one responsible for every single fluttering of his heart. Maybe it was his way to regain control of the whole mess, by laughing about it. Because a mess, he was. 

He was a mess, because Nicolò had invaded every single one of his thoughts and had made him miserable even as he made him come alive and laugh and  _ be _ . Now Yusuf lived with the fear of saying too much, of staring too long. Of loving too intensely. It was hard, embarrassing, tricky, awkward.... It sometimes felt like it was mostly just terrifying and painful. But then he heard Nicolò chuckle quietly or saw him look at him with these incredible eyes and Yusuf forgot everything else. And everything was worth it. 

Nicolò got up without a noise, except for the light rustle of the cover he took with him. Yusuf stopped his thoughts right then and there, his breathing coming to a halt at the same time as the possibility of being discovered crept up on him. He couldn't sleep and realized only now that he had been staring at Nicolo in the dark. Had he noticed? Yusuf didn't think so. The room they stayed in (nothing more than a shepherd's hut, really) was pitch black. Yusuf's eyes followed the barely distinguishable form in the night. He knew him so well by now, that he could imagine every detail of his figure and face without really seeing them. He had often drawn him in his mind, holding off the urge to get a pencil and sketch him, resisting the idea of keeping said sketch close to his heart. 

When Nicolo returned, instead of going to his own bed, he sat next to Yusuf. Distressing in and of itself, to be honest, but Yusuf's thoughts really came undone when he felt Nicolò snuggling against his back, throwing an arm around him. 

“ _ What are you-”  _ Was he starting to panic? No. Well, maybe a  _ little  _ bit.

Nicolò's sleepy voice was muffled behind him, as he answered: “ _ I could hear you shivering from a mile away. Shut up and sleep.”  _

Yusuf smiled. It was a rather cold night and he did not particularly appreciate that kind of weather. Still, his teeth hadn’t been chattering or anything like that. But Nicolò was attentive enough to notice his discomfort nevertheless, and considerate enough to be willing to share both his warmth and his blanket. That was the kind of thing he did. That was the kind of person he was. (That was why Yusuf fell for him). In the end, it was nothing more than a friendly gesture, Yusuf reminded himself. It wasn’t even the first time they had shared a bunk to fight a cold night. Still, his heart fluttered. Yusuf could feel Nicolò - _ all of Nicolò-  _ against his back and was as much infused with his warmth as he was trapped with his scent. The whole setting was burning him to the core. Half begging Allah to grant him the ability to resist temptation once more, he let himself drown in the sensations and finally drifted to slumber.

Yusuf had never been one to awake fresh and ready to go, but this time, he jumped to his feet as soon as he woke. His panicked gaze met Nicolò's and he blabbered something that was not even resembling a word, in any language they knew. His sweet, oh so so sweet Nicolò frowned. 

He only made matters worse when he asked: “ _ The women? Or...?” _

Or the nightmares, he meant. And his companion would know, for they shared both. It was neither. And Yusuf felt pretty stupid and awkward as he moved backward without answering, trying as best he could to hide his current predicament.

_ His very much engorged predicament. _

For all Yusuf tried, it didn't work very well, he found, as he witnessed realization dawning on Nicolò's face. The small “ _ Oh.” _ that passed the man's lips flooded him with a fresh wave of shame and Yusuf rushed out of the hut with the speed of a hunted caracal.

  
  


“ _ It's been a while since you have had a woman.”  _ Nicolò stated later that day, to Yusuf’s immeasurable despair. 

As if a woman would do. Yusuf bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something he would regret. 

“ _ Not as long as it has been for you!”  _ He countered instead, flashing Nicolò a sly smile. Nicolò wasn’t fazed in the slightest. Maybe because he was used to this kind of attack. Yusuf had teased him about it since the beginning. (Once more, the grave: dug.) 

“ _ I would say several years, maybe ten?” _ Nicolò pondered, apparently trying to recall the last time he saw him woo someone. 

“ _ I thought you had no interest in those things,” _ Yusuf replied, attempting to sound anything but grim. He didn't want to talk about that, even less so considering what had happened in the morning.

It was strangely hard for Yusuf not to swoon over the oh-so-subtle frown that formed on Nicolò's face as he answered in a very matter-of-fact tone: “ _ I don't. I have an interest in your well being.” _

....So Allah really didn't want to be merciful today, huh, Yusuf thought. And indeed, Nicolò went on, offering to go to a city next. The implication of that made Yusuf’s skin crawl. 

He had to take a deep, deep breath.

He had always been like a volcano, bubbling with passion and emotions that were overflowing in waves and ready to burst at any minute, and his companion's behaviour (or rather, his own feelings toward said companion) really didn't help him keep his calm sometimes. This whole endeavour only made him grow more reverent of Nicolò's own nature. He had no idea how he did it. He felt like he was about to scream.

So, another deep breath. 

“ _ I do Not. Need. That.” _

They dropped the topic entirely, after that. Nevertheless, they found themselves passing through a rather big city some weeks later on their way to the border, and Nicolò insisted they stayed for a while. They sold some goods and made a fair bargain. Enough to pay for a room at the edge of town. Then, they celebrated by stopping in a small tavern that smelled divine. There, Yusuf caught a girl's eyes, and Nicolò insisted they come back, thrice more in as many days. 

“ _ But your heart is not free, Yusuf.”  _ The name rolled off her lips and she smiled at his surprise. “ _ I can see it in your eyes.”  _ Yusuf's gaze went from her to Nicolò, who was seated two tables further. Had it shown?

“ _ Is she far away?” _ she asked, and relief settled over him.

“ _ She... doesn’t share my affection,” _ he answered, careful not to slip. 

“ _ She knows of yours?”  _

“ _She does not,”_ he admitted begrudgingly, before he added: “ _But she is ... It cannot be.”_

“ _ That is sad,”  _ she said, and there was a brief moment of silence before she enquired with a tilt of her head: “ _ What would you tell her if you could?” _

Yusuf's lips trembled. There was so much he could say. There was so much in his heart that it had been suffocating him night and day, preventing him from taking a single breath. His eyes found the woman's but it was not hers he saw anymore, not really. 

“ _ I would tell her that she hurts me more than a thousand deaths ever could. That I long to see her smile every single second it does not grace her beautiful lips and that the world seems insipid whenever her gentle laugh does not echo in it. That she inhabits every one of my thoughts and that every fiber of my being has been burning for her for so long that she now consumes me completely. I would tell her that there is no color, no taste, no pleasure of any sort without her by my side because she is the one pouring it all in my life.” _

He stopped himself, exhaled a shivering breath. All the things he never said were burning in his chest, a devastating force trying to get loose. But there was only one person who should hear those words and even though Yusuf couldn’t say them to him, it felt wrong to tell them to anybody else. 

The woman's eyes were bright as she put her hand on his. “ _ I could help you forget her...”  _

Yusuf knew he could have her if he wanted to. But he didn't. He slowly took back his hand, his voice cracking. “ _ There is no forgetting her.” _

There was no escaping the chasm Nicolò had bore into his heart. Yusuf had thrown himself in it long ago. 

“ _You should tell her,”_ she said with a smile, “ _even if it cannot be.”_

Yusuf stood, filled with a sudden need to escape this idea. His own words had shaken him, as if saying them out loud had made them more real. He needed some air, some time, in order to not... He stopped in his track. Nicolò was not at his table anymore. Had he left to go back to their room? Or had something happened? His companion was perfectly capable of taking care of himself but Yusuf still didn’t like not knowing where he was. Slightly worried, he paid for his tab and made his way out. 

His distracted state surely played a huge part in what happened. The dagger pierced through his stomach. Yusuf caught the hand holding it, burning with a fury he hadn't felt for some time. He didn't even flinch as he disarmed the man and slit his throat with his own dagger in one motion. Alas, he was too slow to stop the second man, who ran a sword through his back. Yusuf fell to his knees. “ _ Filthy moor,” _ he heard, just before a glob of spit landed on him.

It was not his first nor his hundredth death. But it was the first time Nicolò was not there while he passed away. As he bled out in mud and piss, Yusuf wondered. If Nicolò wasn't with him... was he going to die for good, this time? Was he going to render his last breath in a filthy alleyway, without ever having told Nicolò any of the things that truly mattered? Would the love of his life, the light of his days never hear any of those tender words? He died, head and heart full of Nicolò.

Glazed eyes came back to life as he took a rather painful breath. Something was tugging at his foot and he turned his head toward his otherwise occupied killer, who was hastily relieving Yusuf of his boots. His hand reached for the scimitar at his side. The sound of the blade being unsheathed drew the attention of the man, but it was already too late for him. Yusuf left his dead body in the gutter and walked away. 

When he came into their shared room, still shaken up, Yusuf was greeted by Nicolò's bright eyes and gentle smile. The sight settled something in him, but it lasted a mere second before his companion rushed toward him. 

“ _ Yusuf! What happened?” _

They both knew he could not die. Still, Nicolò fussed and frowned and fell back to his native language. His concerned voice tore something in Yusuf, the worried look on his face effectively ripping him to pieces. Delicate fingers found his cheek, as if trying to rub away the blood. 

Yusuf didn't think.  
He just found himself kissing Nicolò.

And though it was a chaste and tentative kiss, he found that Nicky's lips were everything he ever dreamed of. That they gave him peace and solace, like nothing else could ever do. That he could now think of entire poems, not just about their design or the feelings their smile could carve out of him, but about their softness, their warmth, their taste. About the power they held over him and his heart, about how he could get lost in it forever, how time itself would stop for one of their caresses, how it could create more love out of a man that was already overflowing with it.

But when he pulled away from his dear, sweet, perfect Nicolò, Yusuf was not at peace anymore. Time had resumed its course, and with it came the dawning realization of what he had just done. Something started beating frantically in his chest, as dread overcame his mind. 

“ _ Nicolò?” _ he asked softly, voice low and unsure, piercing with a pleading tone that would shatter the most hardened heart.

He was met with a silence that chilled him to his core, as he watched Nicolò's face morph into something terrifying. 

Yusuf retreated back into arabic: “ _ I need to tell you something I should hav-” _

He was cut off, Nicolò's voice distant and quiet. “ _ Please don't. I- I need-....” _

Yusuf didn't hear the rest. All he could do was stare at Nicoló’s back as his love walked away without sparing him so much as a glance. 

Yusuf had done it.  
_ He had ended it all _

He stayed in their shared room for a while, like a wretched thing torn apart by its own stupidity. Then, he slowly moved, and made his way to the center of the room. There, he turned to Mecca.

“ _ Allah is the greatest,” _ he said, voice but a whisper cracking in the night, but intention clear in his heart. 

The state he was in was unbecoming of Allah, but he did not care, for his God could strike him right then and there and it would mean nothing. Life would mean nothing without Nicolò. So he prayed. Reciting the sacred words, bowing and kneeling until his knees ached. He did not beg Allah to resist the temptation Nicolò presented, nor to give him the force to keep his feelings to himself. He was long past that. Instead, he bargained. He prayed and prayed again, a sniveling mess that did not want to feel ashamed of his love. That did not want to wander the world without a heart for all eternity. He did not ask for Nicolò's love, merely for his forgiveness, for his return. 

When the first signs of morning came, he felt empty. He stood up and went through the door, determined to look for his companion. He found him soon enough, sitting on a toppled tree trunk. Carefully, he made his approach and sat next to him. Nicolò looked so beautiful, so torn apart in the morning light that Yusuf's mind went blank for a moment. 

“ _ What are we doing, Yusuf? _ ” Nicolò asked, and the pain that Yusuf could hear in his voice made him ache. He could never forgive himself for putting him through that.

“ _ Whatever you want,” _ he stated, worried eyes set on Nicolò. He would do whatever Nicoló wanted, whatever he needed, whatever would be necessary to make it all better. He stayed still as Nicolò finally looked up to him, looking as lost and scared as he had been the first few times Yusuf had killed him on that fateful day. And here he was again, hurting him, testing his faith. If he could take it all back, he would do it. But he couldn't. He couldn't... 

“ _ Please don't leave me _ ... _ ” _ he said in a whisper, while his eyes were shouting:  _ I need you. I need you more than you will ever know _ . One more thing that could never pass his lips. 

Nicolò didn't say anything. He got up quietly, a fierce resolution settling on his beautiful face. Yusuf followed, uneasiness sinking in the pit of his stomach when his love looked right through him. He knew that his fate would be determined by the next words that would fall from those forbidden lips, and he was prepared to accept it. But Nicolò said nothing, merely unsheathing his sword. Yusuf did nothing to stop him. Allah could withdraw his Gift of Life right now if he desired so. 

If he was to die, then be it from this hand. As it was always meant to be. 

But the way Nicolò held his blade made his eyes go wide. Yusuf took a step forward, Nicolò’s name on his lips. No!! He looked, horrified and dumbfounded, as skin and muscle were sliced and blood gushed out. He lost all words and thoughts, save for this one: why would he do that to himself? But he knew. Or rather, he hoped. He hoped so strongly that his mind went blank again, his breathing stopping for a moment. 

The wound closed, and his gaze went up to Nicolò's face, a question he didn't dare ask burning his lips. 

When Nicolò smiled, all worries started to fade away, as they tended to do. 

“ _ Yusuf,” _ he said, with such tenderness that Yusuf felt his heart steadying itself, then longing to hear it some more.

A bloodied hand cupped his face, and lips met his own. It was delicate, but no less intense, and it filled him with everything he had always desired. When Nicolò parted from him, seemingly to talk about God, Yusuf pulled him back in. He needed more of that. He needed to erase the terrifying thought of his leaving him forever. 

When he finally felt well enough to let him go, Yusuf pressed his forehead to his lover's. 

As if understanding the need and anguish he had caused him, Nicolò apologized: “ _ I'm sorry I made you wait.” _

Yusuf smiled, his eyes twinkling with devotion: “ _ I'll always wait for you, ya amar.” _

They sat down, fingers intertwined and hearts full of sweet adoration. They stayed there for a while, bathing in the simplicity of it all. Contemplating not what would be, but what already was. There, alight with love and tenderness, Yusuf whispered in his ear everything that had sat in his chest for so long, all the things he could not say before. And it may have been clumsy, and imperfect, but he was lost in it, and he didn't care, for Nicolò's eyes still shined bright, and his lips still smiled shyly. 

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely hope you enjoy the read! Please consider leaving kudos and comments to let me know what you thought about it. Also, note that this is the second fic I ever wrote (first one being Ostende mihi viam) and english is not my native language.
> 
> All my thankyous to @Kat2107 and @wren_ofthewildwood for the (tremendous) beta/editing job !


End file.
